i'm sure you've watched movies where a family has a huge falling out; where a young woman can't stand the ways of her parents, maybe her siblings. which leads to inevitably, a screaming match, where heated words are exchanged and doors are slammed. where feelings are hurt, and tears are shed. but at the end of the movie, the family comes together stronger than ever before. understanding each of its members as individuals and not just components, for the first time. i want that moment, but i do not want to have to speak the harsh words, to open my heart, to make evident what are my feelings and thoughts. i want that moment, while staying closed and some what cold, the whole time. the coldness and frigidity is why i can never have that moment.
i'm sure you've watched movies in which someone heartbroken and lonely does not even know they are on the path of self-discovery, and yet emerge at the end, almost brand new, and not needing validation from any external forces. or, they emerge at the end finding the true love of their life. i want the self discovery, and i want the real love. but i know my path to self discovery
can not possibly be in the rank, diseased and corrupted streets of this city that i have grown to detest more, and so true love too, can not be found or had here.
i am told this is my 'home.' i am told to love this place and i will see things brighter, better, less pathetic. it is not true. beggars crawl on your car at every traffic light. men mumble, sometimes loudly vocalize obsenities regarding you, your face, your body, because they can. because you are just a woman. people end sentences with religious words and phrases, expecting you to do the same, for there is no room for you in this Islamic Republic if you are not a Muslim (albeit a cheating, lying one). there is no water when you turn on your faucet often, because the country is drying up. there is no power, because there are too many homes and people to have to provide it to.
there is no happiness, no hope and no real living in this country. and every day you must deal with the bigger, more powerful issues like IDP's, prostitution, violence and crime. and yet everyday you must also deal with family issues, politics within your social circles, your lack of a love life.
they tell me i must live here, and for the most part it's true, for no other country wants me.
but i do not want to live here.
and i definitely do not want to die here.
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You are a very good writer, Mishka.
ReplyDeletegraham is right mikk, you can write yourself into being a cultural force transcending all nationality....write when you are feeling lazy...write when you are heartbroken...write when your soul is gasping for the tiniest breathlet of clean air , write my precious one
ReplyDeleteTo be honest, the reason I love the place is precisely because it's so difficult to love. Because it's a gigantic mess and it didn't have to be. But that's my attitude to the world in general -- it does kind of basically suck. You tend to have to look really hard to find anything of beauty, and then you have to hang on to it with all you've got. And it generally doesn't match up with the amount of shit there is, but perhaps the two things aren't comparable.
ReplyDeleteBut I don't want to live there. (Funnily enough, the people I've met here who do want to go back tend to be straight guys. Wonder why?!)
Hi, Mishka,
ReplyDeleteI'm Patrick and my friend Eilis turned me on to your blog. I love your writing, it's open and honest and yet, not mawkish. You have a great capacity to communicate the way feeilngs flow through you about n'importe quoi!
I have just opened a literary site and i invite you to join and to post some of this writing there. Eventually, with enough good materiel, we may try a cyber literary Mag!!
http:// clontarfscribblers.ning.com
Your correspondent, Azzura, is also invited!
ReplyDelete